


Nymphadora Tonks and the Mystery at Malfoy Manor

by lilacsigil



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: femgenficathon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-13
Updated: 2006-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/pseuds/lilacsigil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Malfoy family, accused of being Death Eaters, demand Aurors to protect them at one of their parties. Tonks is less than pleased to be assigned, especially when the party goes horribly wrong. Set during Order of the Phoenix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nymphadora Tonks and the Mystery at Malfoy Manor

On the day Tonks had become a fully-fledged Auror, Shacklebolt told her the Legend of the Pile of Paperwork: if anyone ever got their caseload entirely cleared, they got an automatic promotion. She'd laughed, then, but since that first day, she'd never had less than a good quarter-inch of paperwork covering the right-hand side of her desk. The left-hand side she reserved for cups of tea and associated spillage space.

Every time she was called out on duty, therefore, Tonks was thrilled to be getting out of the office and into action, and yet had learned to dread the immense pile of forms that would inevitably follow. The worst cases were when another part of the Ministry was involved, and all their forms had to be filled out, too. Her dad had given her a Quick-Copy Quill, which helped with the triplicating, but not so much with the Byzantine instructions of the Obliviators or, even worse, the Unspeakables.

Tonks sipped her blindingly hot tea, sighed, and unrolled a long, heavy scroll from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. She had just begun to go cross-eyed – did a "constructed device of unrealised destructive capacity" mean some kind of unexploded bomb? – when Marcus Proudfoot peered over the top of her cubicle.

"Tonks! Constant vigilance!"

"This tea will scald your face off in seconds, Proudfoot. Let's just see you try something."

"Scrimgeour wants to see us. No idea why."

Tonks slopped tea on her wrist.

"Ow! Do you think it's about our report on the Lethifold attack?" She flicked her wand into her hand and dried out her tea-soaked sleeve, then dabbed her stinging wrist with a damp hanky. "I thought I was pretty thorough with that one."

"You tell me. Come on, he's expecting us."

Scrimgeour's office, despite being nearly as large as all the Aurors' cubicles put together, was extremely cramped. It was lined with enormous bookcases, filled with all kinds of information, from the tried and proven to the extremely dodgy. Piled on and around the books were Dark Arts Detection devices, some flashing and whirring ominously, others silent. Some larger devices sat on low tables or stands, and Tonks particularly disliked the claw-footed mirror that was supposed to display your true self but only showed Tonks as a pinkish smudge. Older Aurors had told Tonks that Scrimgeour's predecessor had displayed trophies of past victories, including a dragon's severed head preserved and hanging from the roof, and the snapped wands of convicted criminals in a huge glass display case. She wasn't quite sure whether to believe this, but she was glad for anything that gave her a little space to stand in without knocking anything over.

"Proudfoot, Tonks." Scrimgeour's greeting was as brusque as ever, and he gestured them to be seated. Both did, surreptitiously peeking at the piles of papers on the huge oaken desk to see if they could spot anything to give them a clue about why they'd been called in.

Scrimgeour leaned back in his high-backed chair, his body relaxed, but his face uncharacteristically annoyed. Tonks' heart sank. It must be the Lethifold. What had they done wrong?

"Don't looked so alarmed, Auror. I've called you in to give the pair of you a new assignment."

Tonks was so relieved that she nearly bounced up off her chair.

"Yes sir!"

Proudfoot gave her a hard look out of the corner of his eye. Tonks was the newest and youngest of the Aurors, but Proudfoot was the second-newest, and tended be a little offended at Tonks' ebullience. Tonks composed her face for Proudfoot's sake.

"You may not be so pleased when you hear about the assignment. You've been keeping up with the papers, I presume?" Scrimgeour didn't wait for an answer. "There's been some rather unpleasant allegations about the loyalties of Lucius Malfoy published in the Quibbler. Mr Malfoy is highly offended and asked us to arrest the editor, the journalist, and, I quote, 'anyone else even marginally involved in this travesty.'"

Proudfoot frowned.

"That's hardly a matter for the Aurors, sir."

"Correct. It's nothing to do with our Department at all. Mr Malfoy can pursue the Quibbler on his own time. Or he can parade up and down Diagon Alley in a Death Eater mask for all I care."

Both junior Aurors smirked. Scrimgeour's opinions on the former Death Eaters who had claimed to be under Imperio were well known.

"This is not the problem at hand. Mr Malfoy fears that his life may be in danger from the surviving victims of the Death Eaters during the last war, and has persuaded Minister Fudge that it would be appropriate for him to be protected."

"By Aurors, sir?" Proudfoot looked confused.

"Indeed. I have convinced the Minister that I am unable to spare even a single Auror for Mr Malfoy's benefit. I'm not having my people used as an alibi for whatever Malfoy's really planning." Scrimgeour frowned deeply. "If he's planning anything at all. He may be genuinely alarmed, and not without reason."

"What is our assignment, then, sir?" Tonks, like most of Magical Law Enforcement, was thoroughly up-to-date on Lucius Malfoy's ongoing campaign of special favours. Both Scrimgeour and their Head of Department, Madam Bones, had made it quite clear what would happen to anyone caught taking bribes or, as they phrased it, "encouragements". Still, a direct request from the Minister of Magic was not to be thrown aside.

"The Malfoys are having one of their parties this Saturday evening. A Spring Soiree, I believe they call it: about 150 Wizards attending, and an elite group staying overnight. The two of you will be attending and providing security for Mr Malfoy and his family."

Proudfoot and Tonks both jumped out of their seats at that.

"But, sir – " Tonks started, but Proudfoot talked over her.

"Sir, I'm sure you know the Malfoys' opinions on blood purity in wizards. Do you think Tonks and I are really the most appropriate people to send to Malfoy Manor?"

"A pair of half-bloods? I think you're entirely appropriate for this particular gathering, Proudfoot. No matter what Lucius Malfoy would like to believe, he is not the Minister for Magic, and he does not dictate policy within this department."

Proudfoot sat down, chastened. Tonks hovered for a moment, then followed suit.

Scrimgeour handed two small silver brooches across the desk. The brooches were finely wrought silver, in the shape of a tiny spray of blossom.

"These will get you into the party. You should be able to find details on Malfoy Manor downstairs in the Cartographicum. Any further questions?"

"Yes, sir." Tonks was frowning. "Do you think there really is a threat to Mr Malfoy's life? Or to his family?"

"It's unlikely, but it is possible. There's a lot of frustration with the Ministry's line on the Death Eaters, and someone might try to take things into their own hands. That Quibbler interview has unleashed a lot of bad memories. Keep your eyes open. But you'll be doing that in Malfoy Manor in any case, won't you?"

By the time Tonks and Proudfoot had finished nodding in agreement, they were out the door, each with a silver brooch in hand. Proudfoot pocketed his, and walked towards the lift. Tonks followed.

"Proudfoot, there's something I've got to tell you," she hissed, as they waited for the next lift.

"You don't want to do this mission? We'll be lucky if we get to go home without them using our guts for garters. At least we're not muggleborn. We'd be doomed."

"No, it's worse than that!"

Proudfoot stared at Tonks, whose hair was morphing uncomfortably between curly brown and spiky black, but the lift arrived before either of them could say any more.

 

Down the busy hallway, brightly lit by lamps, as the magical windows were showing icy rain today, was the enormous Cartographicum, repository of maps of the entire Wizarding World. In the last year, access had been severely restricted for security reasons – though Fudge was oddly reticent about whose security exactly – and members of the public who might, for example, be interested in the nesting places of the Augurey had to apply for approved copies of the specific maps they wanted. This process took weeks, and there had been outraged birdwatchers, ramblers and potion makers haunting the lobby ever since the new rules applied.

Tonks and Proudfoot, as Aurors, had full access to details of every Wizarding residence in Britain. Most of the people present in the huge room, seated in the steep downward spiral of high-sided wooden cubicles, were actually Ministry employees from the Department of Magical Transportation, connecting or disconnecting various residences to the Floo Network. Their conversation, rustling and spellcasting filled the air.

Tonks all but shoved Proudfoot into one of the narrow cubicle, and checked no-one was nearby. They were both pushed against the desk, but she still managed to grab the front of his robes and look him in the face.

"Remember how I said I hate all that blood purity tripe?" Tonks whispered, her eyes narrow. "Because my mum's family disowned her when she married my dad?"

"Who's a muggle-born, like my mum. Yeah, I remember."

"Narcissa Malfoy is my aunt! If I go to their house they'll kill me! And use my skin for a rug!" Tonks stuck her arms out, and rolled her eyes back in her head, imitating a very dead bearskin rug.

"They wouldn't do that!"

Tonks eyed Proudfoot beadily, but held her dead bear pose. "My grandmother's house had a rack of muggle-skinning tools upstairs. Everyone knows about Lucius Malfoy, and Narcissa must be just as bad."

"Wait, Tonks, you said 'must be'. You don't know her?"

"No, we've never met. I mean, I've seen her at a distance. That's all, though."

"So she hasn't been threatening to skin you."

"Well, no. Not really, no."

"So you don't actually know she'll kill you. And, in fact, now would be a really bad time for the Malfoys to waltz around killing Aurors. There's enough suspicion on them already."

"Okay, okay." Tonks threw her hands up in defeat. "But if they skin me alive, you've got to take my head back to Scrimgeour, stick it on his desk, and charm it to say 'I told you so' a hundred times a day."

A witch stuck her head around the corner of the cubicle. "Do you mind? Some of us are trying to work."

Proudfoot made apologetic, silent gestures, and this seemed to satisfy her, as she ducked back to her own map corral. He turned back to Tonks. " Seriously, though, Tonks, you think the Malfoys are going to throw us out?

Tonks shrugged, uncomfortably.

"My mum has been known to exaggerate. I don't think it's going to be comfortable, though. That lot really do think they're better than everyone else."

"Do you think Malfoy's actually a Death Eater? I mean, I know Scrimgeour does, but he was here for the last war."

"Would surprise more if he wasn't one. You're right, though, the Malfoys will be on their best behaviour right now. I would have loved to see their faces when they found out that they were being accused by the Quibbler, of all things."

Proudfoot, who was well-known as a devoted Quibbler subscriber in his teens, laughed loudly.

"Right there on the front page, next to that Moon Frog autopsy!"

"Oh, got a copy did you, Proudfoot?"

"Just for the Moon Frogs." He sobered. "You sure they'll be all right with half-bloods?"

"I'm sure they won't be, but Scrimgeour's put them in a position where they won't be able to do anything about it. We'll be fine."

"Good. Back to work, then."

Tonks tapped the desk with her wand.

"Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire."

The varnish on the wood swirled as if Tonks had stirred it, then cleared to show a neatly drawn map of Malfoy Manor in its surface. Tonks slipped into the chair to look closer, and Proudfoot peered over her shoulder. The map showed an outline of large, empty grounds dominated by a large, blocky house and the formal gardens around it.

"It's not very detailed, is it?" Tonks tapped her wand on the desk again. "Magnify."

The map became larger, but no further detail appeared. Internal walls and, of course, fireplaces, were marked in the house, but there was no further information. Even doors and windows weren't apparent. Tonks had seen maps so detailed that the species in the herb beds were marked, but this one was nearly empty.

"That's no bloody use!" Tonks muttered, as Proudfoot leaned forward and pulled his wand across the map, causing the building to separate into its three storeys, plus cellars. None of them were any more detailed than the original map, but at least gave a clearer idea of the layout of staircases and hallways.

"With the cellar here, and these fireplaces, this must be the kitchens," Proudfoot said, and trailed his wand around the map, turning it for a better view.

"And here, the dining room? Or a ballroom?" Tonks bent her head to the puzzle.

 

Two hours later, Tonks and Proudfoot had a fairly good idea of the layout of Malfoy Manor, despite the suspicious lack of detail on the official map. Proudfoot was heading to Diagon Alley to rent some formal robes, but, as Tonks was just going to borrow some of her mother's and change her own shape to fit, she had decided to track down Arthur Weasley instead. Arthur had been inside Malfoy Manor at least once – Tonks had been in training at the time that the Department had raided the place in search of Dark artifacts – and Tonks was sure her fellow Order member would have taken the opportunity to have a good look around.

Although it was lunchtime, Arthur was eating his sandwiches at his desk, and looked up in surprise when Tonks leaned into his cubicle.

"Wotcher, Arthur. Want to come outside and eat your lunch in the sunshine? Got some more info on the wizard who was feeding muggles to a Lethifold."

Arthur looked at the windows dubiously, as there were now hailstones pelting against the glass, but shrugged and packed up his sandwiches.

"It's not really like that out there, is it?"

"Course not! Maintenance is just cross because Magical Creatures led that pair of stolen Abraxans across the lobby this morning, and guess who had to clean the floor before Fudge got in?"

Arthur laughed.

"I just can't work out who'd want to steal Abraxans in the first place! They're more than a little noticeable. Well, I suppose that's more your concern than mine."

Chatting amiably, they took the lift up, though they were delayed slightly when Tonks briefly managed to get one of the message-carrying paper aeroplanes stuck in her spiky hair. At ground level, they ducked out the emergency exit into the miserable little courtyard occupied by smokers. Fudge's modern, open-plan office design had certainly increased communication between Ministry staff, but those who had enjoyed a pipe or other similarly smelly pursuits in their own tiny office had found themselves unceremoniously booted out into the courtyard near the incinerator. About twenty witches and wizards huddled around the walls, sucking on their cigarettes, pipe or hookahs, gossiping in a desultory way. Two wizards with bubotuber boils all the way up their arms were painting themselves with some revolting unguent that smelt exactly like garbage water.

"Afternoon, Arthur," one of them said in a cheery manner, nodding at Tonks.

"Those boils still troubling you? I thought St Mungo's had taken care of that."

"Oh, it's helping, it is," the wizard replied, gesturing with his pot of unguent, "But no-one will let us in the office until it's dried. Stinks to high heaven, this stuff."

"Mmm, it certainly does," Arthur nodded approvingly and seemed ready to stay longer until Tonks nudged him forward, up some concrete stairs and into the Muggle street outside.

Across from the emergency exit was a drab little park, its wooden benches thoroughly encrusted in pigeon poo. Arthur pulled his wand from a pocket.

"_Scourgify!_"

The bench was immediately clean, and the two sat down and pulled out their sandwiches. Tonks was finding the idea of tuna spread and Marmite far less appealing than it had been early this morning, but ate anyway. Arthur's sandwiches had thick, home-made bread, and were filled with strong-smelling cheese, cold beef and a hearty mustard. Seeing Tonks' longing expression, he handed one to her.

"Oh, go ahead, Molly always makes too many. Trying to feed me up again, I think." Arthur absent-mindedly touched his side, where he had been wounded just a few months ago.

"Thanks!" Tonks had half the sandwich in her mouth before she'd even finished the word. "So, Arthur, know anything about Malfoy Manor? I'll be there tomorrow night."

"Now, there's a surprise," Arthur said cheerfully, but glanced around him and flicked his wand in a complicated pattern that Tonks recognised as a minor Disillusionment charm. "Not so interested in Lethifolds after all."

"Oh, I'm very interested in them!" Tonks put her hand over her heart, sincerely, and a big wedge of cheese slipped out of her sandwich and onto her lap. She shoved it back in the sandwich and kept eating. "But right now, I'm wondering why the official Ministry map only shows the absolute basics – walls, fences, fireplaces."

"Even before we raided them, three years ago, the map had plenty of blank spots. Afterwards, the map was wiped completely clean. Lucius must be paying someone in Transportation, but that's hardly news."

"Not really, no. But Proudfoot – you know him, Marcus Proudfoot; tall, brown hair, carried Amos Diggory out of the Ministry that time the poor man tried to strangle Fudge after the Triwizard Tournament – he and I are the requested Aurors at the Malfoys' Spring Soiree."

Arthur smirked. "Scrimgeour wasn't too happy with their request?"

"No, but I don't want to end up in their statue garden or something because Malfoy feels insulted. Or Aunt Narcissa. So, what's the go with their house?" Tonks munched cheerfully on her sandwich, somewhat nostalgic for home cooking, though the sandwiches her parents made had never been quite this epic.

"It hasn't been in the family for long. I think it was Lucius's grandfather who bought it from an old family in ruin. They've tried to pretend it's always been theirs, but the spellwork is all new."

"Good," Tonks said emphatically. Her mother had told her more than a few stories of the old blood magics that had been placed around Black family residences, and Tonks didn't fancy running into those. "Anything we should watch out for?"

"There's no Apparition on the grounds unless you're a Malfoy, of course. They'll have everyone arrive by Floo, into the big fireplaces downstairs so no-one gets their best robes dirty. So the place will be stinking hot in no time, but they seem to like that. The upper storeys were completely reconstructed by Lucius's father, so they're filled with hidden passages and the like. We made Malfoy open them up, but I'm sure we didn't get everything. Most of what they have is out on display, though: the place is their showcase."

"My mum always called them jumped-up shopkeepers, but I think she was just cross at Aunt Narcissa not inviting her to the wedding. As if she would!" Tonks morphed her features into an exaggerated version of her mother's. "'Lucius bought himself a pure-blood wife, but he can't buy class.'"

Arthur laughed, but patted Tonks' hand sympathetically, as if passing the gesture on to Andromeda.

"Don't be too hard on your mother. Family was always very important to her. It is to Narcissa and Lucius, too. I doubt they're going to be any trouble to you at their own party. Still, you never know who'll be there. Keep your eyes open, Tonks. You'll be doing double duty, for the Aurors and the Order."

"I know. I'm not really expecting to open a wardrobe and – voila! – Death Eater robes! But I'd love to find something that even Fudge can't deny."

"I've been through the place twice, I'm afraid, without much luck. I suppose you might have more luck at a party than at a raid after they've already been tipped off. Come over to the Burrow tonight, and we can go through the maps we made last time. I wasn't game to keep them at the Ministry."

"Will there be more sandwiches like this?" Tonks licked the last bits of mustard off her fingers with a satisfied sigh.

"Better: cottage pie."

"I'll be there!"

***

 

"Wow!" Proudfoot's mouth was hanging open slightly, and Tonks tapped the underside of his chin to close it.

"Thanks, but you scrub up pretty nicely yourself."

Proudfoot flicked invisible dust from the long black robes he had hired, and preened for Tonks' entertainment.

"You've got your brooch?" Tonks asked, pinning her own to the shoulder of her deep green robes, then making sure that her wand was easily accessible in its leather sheath along the inside of her forearm. Proudfoot was doing the same: his sleeves were a closer fit than hers, but still allowed plenty of space for hiding a wand. It would be foolish to have to fumble through unfamiliar robes to draw a wand, but it wouldn't do to look to aggressive, either.

Proudfoot's robes were sombre and plain, making him look considerably older than his twenty-four years, and his height meant that the long sweep of the robes, uninterrupted by embellishment or pattern, was rather intimidating. Tonks, who certainly couldn't rely on her height to intimidate anyone, even with the few extra inches morphing could give her, had chosen rather more decorative robes, borrowed from her mother, and had taken a more curvy shape than usual to fit them. The front of the robes was cut rather lower than anything Tonks usually wore for work, but apart from the bust area, they were loose, layered and flowing, in various shades of dark green. The layers were made of silk, and could be easily gathered up in one hand if sprinting was necessary – Tonks had tested this up and down the hallway at home, much to her mother's horror – and were long enough to hide that her shoes were flats. To compensate for this, she had chosen long, straight, reddish-brown hair like her mother's, and, with help, had put it up in an elaborate twist. Her dad had laughed and said that it made her head look like a loaf of bread, but Tonks was rather pleased with the effect, and Proudfoot's response had confirmed her instinct.

Proudfoot extended his arm to Tonks, and she took it, feeling less than professional but certainly very pretty as they walked through the lobby of the Ministry to the fireplaces in order to use the Floos. Eric, the Watchwizard who had ended up on nightshift yet again, waved at them enthusiastically, which was the most movement Tonks had seen out of him in the last year. She waved back, then grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the large porcelain bowls that sat on stands near the fireplaces. Proudfoot let go of her arm and looked at her seriously.

"I know, Proudfoot. Eternal vigilance."

"I'm not joking. Scrimgeour couldn't even get us a guest list. We don't know who's going to be there or what they're likely to do. And remember, we're there to protect the Malfoys, not to encourage their downfall, or take them out ourselves."

"I'm fine, really. Malfoy's a political man and he knows how it would look if an Auror was harmed in his house."

Proudfoot gave her one last glance, then threw his handful of powder into the fire. Tonks followed suit.

"Malfoy Manor!" they announced simultaneously, and stepped into the green flames.

For a moment, Tonks thought they had come out in the wrong place. She had stepped from the enormous fireplace onto a carpet of soft grass dotted with tiny silver-white flowers, and a gentle, misty rain cooled her flushed face. It was only a momentary disorientation, however: by the time she realised that she could hear music, the rain wasn't dampening her skin, and that the green grass was confined within four walls, she had taken stock of the pretty enchantments and looked past them. Proudfoot was obviously just as startled as Tonks, and almost had his wand out before he came to the same conclusion that she had.

The ballroom was enormous, far bigger than on the plans of the house, though Tonks could see that it had only been extended outwards, and probably temporarily: the fireplaces and staircases that led out of the room had not moved at all. Birch trees stood here and there among the brightly-dressed revellers, sweet treats and delicate ornaments dangling from their pale branches. Along the walls were long tables made of glass, with bright spring leaves fluttering beneath the surface; more food and an endless array of drinks were spread along the tables. The room was only half-full, so far, but the fireplaces behind the two Aurors were spilling party-goers out at a great rate. Many seemed to be slightly intoxicated before they even arrived, but Tonks spotted more than one who was cold sober and thoroughly wary. It seemed the Malfoy's reputation was preceding them, if not in the way that they might have preferred.

"Good evening." A polite voice at Tonks' side startled her – she usually noticed when someone was sneaking up on her, but the grass was dulling sound. The speaker was a teenage boy with very fair hair, wearing particularly expensive-looking pale blue robes, with complicated brocade down the front. Tonks recognised him immediately – Draco was the image of his mother, with the pointed Black chin and nose – but Draco did not, apparently, recognise Tonks. To be fair, Tonks thought, he might not even know she existed.

"Hello," Tonks replied, and shook his hand firmly. "You must be Draco Malfoy. We're the Aurors your father requested to protect your family tonight."

The boy smiled, and reached over to shake Proudfoot's hand, too.

"I suppose Father is going to want to meet you. Please, come with me."

He turned, and led Proudfoot and Tonks around the edge of the few early dancers, past the long table full of drinks – Tonks saw a house-elf dart away with an empty glass – and over to a corner tucked away behind a stand of birch trees. Just before they reached it, Draco turned to Proudfoot, lowering his voice.

"Do you think there's going to be any problems tonight? I couldn't believe Potter and his lot getting all that rubbish published…"

"I think you and your parents are entirely safe," Proudfoot replied, in his best trust-me-I'm-an-Auror voice. "But it never hurts to make sure."

Draco nodded seriously, and turned back to the stand of trees. Behind it, a small group of men and women were having an intense conversation. Tonks really wished she could hear what they were saying, but the music was very distracting, almost certainly on purpose, and she didn't dare cast a spell here without a damn good reason.

"Father," Draco interrupted, "The Aurors are here."

"Ah, excellent," Lucius Malfoy replied, getting up from his delicately ornamented chair to greet them, but the composed smile quickly slid from his face to be replaced with something close to a snarl. He quickly turned back to his son. "Draco, if you wouldn't mind, Madame Carrow and I were discussing the merits of selective entry to Hogwarts. I'm sure you have something to contribute."

Draco scowled at Tonks in an expression that was comically similar to his father's, although he clearly had no idea why his father was angry, then smiled brightly at an elderly lady in banana yellow robes and sat down beside her. Malfoy swept away, gesturing for the Aurors to follow him, which, after a last searching glance at his conversational companions, they did.

Malfoy made directly for the stairs, with Proudfoot immediately behind him and Tonks trailing in their wake, as she had to stop to untangle herself from a protruding tree branch that caught her by the hair. When she caught up to the two men, she was rather glad that she could stand a little behind Proudfoot. Malfoy had taken them directly to his wife, who had ceased her conversation at the foot of the stairs and was staring directly at Tonks, with a hard expression on her pale face.

"Well," Narcissa said, in a high, tight voice, "I don't know whether to be flattered that Scrimgeour's gone to so much trouble to insult us by sending you, or insulted that he didn't bother to find out the slightest thing about my family."

"Madam Malfoy." Proudfoot cast an alarmed look at Tonks, but seemed relieved at Tonks' deliberately neutral expression. "Your husband requested that Aurors be sent to guard your party."

"Spring Soiree," Narcissa corrected automatically.

"We're already here. You can send us away or you can let us do our jobs."

Malfoy opened his mouth, but Narcissa spoke first, taking her husband's arm.

"My husband thinks we're in danger after that wretched newspaper article, and I agree. I would prefer you to stay and do as you have been asked. Stay, but keep to yourselves, if that's at all possible. I see no need to ruin anyone else's enjoyment."

"Half these people are here solely because of that article," Tonks snapped, thoroughly irritated at Narcissa's manner.

"Not solely because of that, I trust, Nymphadora."

Narcissa turned swiftly, and Malfoy turned with her, welcoming smiles immediately on their faces, moving smoothly away from the two Aurors and directly into another conversation, this time with the Minister for Magic, his wife and the extensive group of sycophants that surrounded Fudge wherever he went.

"That went well," Tonks muttered.

"Nobody's trying to skin you, at least. Hey, how about you go check on the MLE patrolling the grounds? I'll stay here in the warm and watch out for any trouble." Proudfoot cast an exaggerated leer at the pert satin-clad behind of a young woman dancing past.

"You perve!" Tonks smacked him on the arm, but Proudfoot's joking was already having its intended effect. If a snub was the extent of the Malfoys' wrath tonight, well, her survival was assured. She shook a warning finger at Proudfoot – she was fairly sure that the girl he had leered at was a Hogwarts student – then moved off through the dancers, away from the stairs and out to the entry hall.

 

The entry hall – which was deserted, as the last of the guests were now arriving, like all the rest, by Floo – was much colder than the ballroom, and its dark, panelled walls and marble floor were quite a contrast to the soft tones of the Spring-themed decoration. Tonks' foot slid out from under her as she stepped from the welcoming lawn onto the slick marble, but she managed to catch the doorframe with one hand and halt her skid before anything more than her dignity was damaged. She cursed under her breath and continued with greater care: the entry hall was a treasure trove of art and sculpture, and the last thing Tonks needed was to break an heirloom and spend the rest of her life paying for it in one way or another.

Just as Arthur Weasley had said, everything was on display. It was all tastefully arranged, and the entry hall was very large, but there was no getting away from the sheer excess of tapestries, statues, paintings – Tonks was sure she recognised a few of the people in the portraits from similarly grand portraits at the Ministry – magnificent porcelain vases, and a faintly yellowed, life-size, ivory carving of a unicorn. It was decorated with large spots of flaking gold leaf, but the ivory itself seemed to be of a single piece. Tonks dreaded to think what creature had possessed a tusk huge enough to provide that quantity of ivory. She moved closer, despite a loud "Tut!" from an elderly woman in a nearly portrait, to examine the unicorn's ivory flanks for evidence of joins, when she realised what had actually drawn her attention to this corner of the overcrowded room.

Hanging on the wall behind the unicorn was a sparkling tapestry, about twelve feet long and six feet high. Greyhounds pranced their way along the tapestry, beneath a night sky of shining stars. In the centre of the tapestry stood a silver cup, flanked by two dogs standing on their hind legs, their red tongues hanging out. Silver threads, enchanted to sparkle, lit up the largest stars, the shining chalice and, more dimly, the dogs' coats. The tapestry itself was made of wools and silk, but as Tonks peered more closely at it, she could see tiny semi-precious stones stitched onto the closely woven threads, decorating the dogs' collars and the ground across which they danced.

It was not the brightest or most expensive item in the room, but, to Tonks, it was the most familiar. Her mother's half-empty hope chest had long been an object of fascination to her, and the largest item in the chest was a life-sized drawing of this exact tapestry, with every colour carefully numbered and listed beneath it. Other items – handkerchiefs, pillow cases, sheets, a half-finished tablecloth – had been embroidered with the same greyhounds. Tonks had never been taught to embroider, though she had asked her mother more than once, only to be put off with tales about long, dull summer holidays spent inside, sewing. Naturally, she hadn't put together a hope chest, either, but she had often poked around in her mother's, and pretended that all the pretty things were hers. This tapestry had been meant for Andromeda, at least at the design stage, but here it was, completed, in Narcissa's home.

Tonks stepped back, and took a few short, sharp breaths. She was not here to investigate her mother's family: she was here to protect the Malfoys. Months of poking around at 12 Grimmauld Place had revealed very little to her about the way her mother grew up, and there was no reason to think poking around Narcissa Malfoy's treasures would provide more answers. Tonks sighed. No matter what she told herself, she still desperately wanted to know more: her mother rarely told her anything positive or exciting about her youth. According to Andromeda, it was all dreadfully dull and not worth mentioning, though, to Tonks, an only child with mostly Muggle relatives, any story about growing up in a magical household was fascinating. Tonks had believed this until she was fifteen or so, when she realised that the look on her mother's face when she was pestered for information was not boredom, but a suppressed mixture of anger and fear. After that, Tonks had stopped asking.

Tonks abruptly turned her back on the tapestry, brushing stray gold leaf from the unicorn off her robes, and walked with great care across the broad expanse of slippery marble to the enormous front doors. After a few words to the freezing cold and deadly bored MLE hit-wizard, Shrubb, she ducked back inside, closing the door behind her, and brushed off the rain where it had beaded on her silk robes. She wasn't game to use a drying spell – her charms tended to be hard on clothes, and her mother would never lend her anything posh again. With one last glance at the shimmering greyhound tapestry, she regretfully returned to the ballroom, full of music, laughter and people who would happily see Tonks and her family lying dead on the ground.

 

As the night wore on, it became ever clearer that the otherwise congenial atmosphere of the ballroom certainly did not include the two Aurors. Guests who had been perfectly friendly earlier stayed well away from them, and those who had been casting the occasional unpleasant glance no longer bothered to hide their open dislike. A house-elf had slapped Tonks' hand when her rumbling stomach prompted her to reach for a hors d'oeuvre from one of the glass tables. In fact, only two people bothered to speak to them at all.

"Ah, there you are, Aurors," Fudge huffed, making his way across the grassy floor, his wife in tow. "Lovely to see you, yes. Everything quiet out there?"

"Yes, Minister. All quiet," Proudfoot answered politely, "Sir, is –"

"Wonderful, wonderful," Fudge said loudly, over the top of Proudfoot's questions, then was gone, remarkably fast for a plump man in mango-coloured velvet robes.

"What were you going to ask him?" Tonks still hadn't had anything to eat, but the house-elves seemed to consider a glass of water suitable fare.

"If he knew who had the honour of staying over tonight. I'm sure he will be, but I don't know who else, and I'm not game to ask Madam Malfoy."

Both Aurors looked across the room to where Narcissa Malfoy was being baled up by a paunchy older man who had fluffy sideburns and a monocle. He obviously wasn't happy, and gestured more than once at the Aurors, but Narcissa seemed to be placating him.

"Well, at least we have the satisfaction of making the Spring Soiree a little less comfortable. Scrimgeour said there'd be an 'elite group', but he didn't give us any idea of the size."

Tonks fell silent as they were approached by a tall, beady-eyed man with an alcoholic flush on his cheeks and several large silver medallions dangling from his neck.

"Fudge has got the two of you slaving away here, has he? You don't look too busy, I have to say."

"Sir. I'm Proudfoot, this is Auror Tonks. Can we help you?"

"Barnabas Cuffe, Editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet." He leaned closer, his breath aggressively sour. "Listen, have you heard anything? Anyone out to get Malfoy? Any trouble out there tonight?"

Tonks lowered her voice, conspiratorially.

"Mr Cuffe, we're on duty right now, so we can't give you any information. Will you still be here tomorrow morning?"

"Oh yes, I will indeed."

"There can't be many people staying, though."

"Just a few of us. Malfoy always runs things that way. Access to the Minister, a few words in his ear, a fine breakfast without half the Ministry trying to watch who's talking to whom… Always look forward to these things."

"I'm pleased to hear that, Mr Cuffe. Proudfoot and I are looking forward to it." Tonks moved forward, putting her hand on Cuffe's arm. "Perhaps we could talk more, then."

"I don't know if we'll get a moment to ourselves, but I'd love to hear an Auror's opinion on all these Death Eater reports going around. Can't get a word out of your lot, most of the time."

"A chat at breakfast is a little different to an interview at the Ministry, don't you think?" Tonks smiled, then let concern cross her face. "You don't think there'll be any problems, do you? With the Malfoys there, and Mr Fudge, and who knows who else?"

"Oh, it's not some kind of stand-and-deliver formal meeting, my dear. It's very social, and the guests are hardly the type to want their secrets spilled out, to you or to me." He winked at Tonks in a friendly way, but Tonks managed to keep her smile unwavering. Cuffe continued, drawing an invisible seating diagram with his finger as he went. "Let's see, who's staying. There's usually about a dozen. The Malfoys at the head of the table, and the Minister and his wife, of course. Damocles Belby – did all that work on the Wolfsbane potion, you know – and his young man. Martin and Aurelia Bobbin…"

"Of Bobbin Apothecaries?"

"Precisely. Gerontius Hopkirk – that's him over there, with Madame Malfoy – and his wife Mafalda, from the Ministry, must be here too. And yours truly. There'll be a few more, but I'll leave that up to your unparalleled skills." He grinned hugely, as Tonks replied with her most admiring smile.

"Mr Cuffe, you're invaluable."

"Thank you, my dear. I shall see you in the morning."

 

After midnight, the less favoured guests began to return home through the enormous fireplaces. Tonks and Proudfoot watched carefully, to make sure that no guests slipped away and remained on the premises, and Tonks was intrigued to notice that they weren't the only ones keeping a close eye on proceedings. A large, thick-featured man – Tonks recognised him as a long-term associate of Malfoy's, Vasyl Crabbe – stood quietly near the base of the stairs, his small eyes gazing suspiciously from guest to guest.

Eventually, only a dozen or so guests remained, and were escorted upstairs by Narcissa for a nightcap. Draco made a point of closing the door firmly in Proudfoot's face, but the Aurors still got a glimpse of the overstuffed drawing room within.

"Looks like Cuffe was spot on," Proudfoot muttered, trying to keep his voice down so they had a chance of overhearing something from the congenial murmur within.

"Anyone else you recognise? The big guy who was by the stairs is Crabbe, and his wife was in the pink velvet. I saw Glenda Chittock, from the radio. My mum loves her books."

"So, I presume that was her husband she was with. The short guy with the ponytail is Lynch, the Irish Seeker. Saw him at the World Cup." A look of great nostalgia passed over Proudfoot's face.

"Well spotted! I couldn't even see him behind Mrs Crabbe. That just leaves the man with the handlebar moustache and his wife."

"The tall woman with the butterflies pinned to her hair? I saw her downstairs, keeping a teenaged boy away from the wine. Big, hulking boy, dark hair, long arms."

"Oh, I know him. He'd started at Hogwarts a year or two before I finished. He's one of the Montague boys. Slytherins, good at Quidditch." Tonks mimed swinging a Beater's bat, her jaw sticking out like Montague's. "Those must be his parents, then. The Malfoys have been pretty conservative in who they've kept around."

"I know. Half a dozen people we'd really like to have a few words with, but they're all pretty friendly to the Malfoys. What about the Chittocks? You'd think she'd be pretty careful about coming to parties like this, with a public image to keep up."

"Yeah, but this way people will be talking about her. That's important, too. What about that wizard who was arguing with Narcissa? Hopkirk? I'm sure I've seen him at the Ministry."

"His wife is head of the Improper Use of Magic Office. Maybe he wasn't expecting to have Aurors watching him and his wife cavort with the Malfoys."

"Probably. Knowing the Malfoys is a high stakes game, these days."

Proudfoot jumped aside as Lucius Malfoy flung the drawing room door open, and exited in the middle of a cluster of chatting guests. Completely ignoring the Aurors, they said their goodnights and the guests departed for their bedrooms. Most of them seemed to know exactly where they were going, having stayed at Malfoy Manor before, and only the Chittocks needed Draco's polite guidance. Tonks followed at a discreet distance, as he took the couple left at the top of the grand staircase, in the wake of a few other couples: the Hopkirks, the Crabbes and the Bobbins. Proudfoot nodded and turned to shadow those who turned right.

The guests scattered into elaborately furnished bedrooms along the corridors of the third storey, though the Malfoys themselves said goodnight at the second. Tonks, led along the hallway by Draco, caught glimpses of elegant four-poster beds and enormous living murals; a mosaic bathroom floor with dragon scales interspersed in the pattern, and fireplaces holding flames that cast a filigree pattern over the room, in soft, rather sickly shades of silver, pink and green. The Hopkirks found their room first, then the Crabbes on the other side of the hall. Finally, Draco arrived at the Chittocks' room, which seemed, as he politely opened the door for them, to be similar to the other rooms, though this one had a large, decorative feathered mask dominating the wall above the fireplace.

"Thank you, Draco dear," Glenda Chittock gushed, in her famous, familiar voice. "You're a credit to your parents, and I won't have anyone saying otherwise." She cast a glance back down the hall where Tonks was standing, then swept into her bedroom. Her husband firmly shook Draco's hand and followed.

"Well," Draco said, sauntering back up the hall towards Tonks, "I suppose you're going to want to interrogate me now."

"Not at all, Draco. We're here to protect you."

"As if we need the protection of a pair of half-blood Ministry lapdogs like you!"

"Some people say that the Ministry is very beholden to your father," Tonks replied, off-hand.

"Well, they'd be right." Draco seemed surprised at this apparent compliment, but recovered his scowl and jabbed an angry finger at Tonks. "And that means you, and your job, depend on him. Mother said Scrimgeour sent you to insult us, so you'd just better stay in line!"

"Thank you for the advice." Tonks smiled, but more at Draco's increasingly high-pitched voice than his actual warnings. He sounded exactly like she had at the same age – highly defensive and extremely dramatic. He swept past her down the hall, and for a moment Tonks felt very sad for him: she had the chance to grow up a little and stand away from the shadow of her parents, before the war came back and everyone had to choose sides. Since the alleged return of the Death Eaters' leader, whose name Tonks can't even think about, it doesn't seem likely that Draco will have the same chance.

 

Proudfoot had seen the guests on his side of the staircase safely to bed, and, after a quick check of the halls, met up with Tonks again on the grand staircase.

"Anything suspicious?" Tonks asked, rather wearily.

"Not a sausage. They're all tucked up safely in their beds. Do you think the house-elves will let us have something to eat now?"

"Worth a try!"

The Aurors turned to descend the stairs and scrounge something from the abandoned ballroom, but didn't even get down a full flight before they were interrupted by a throaty, agonised scream. Without a word exchanged, Proudfoot and Tonks had their wands out and were racing back up the stairs to the third floor, then, hearing a fainter version of the same cry, up again to the fourth floor.

With a loud cracking noise, Lucius Malfoy appeared right in front of them on the landing, and Tonks had to stumble backwards and grab the banister to stop herself running straight into his back.

"Where's it coming from?" Malfoy roared, his usually calm face marred by red blotches of anger.

"This way!" Proudfoot sprinted down the corridor, then slowed and tried to open a door. "Here, or around here." He rattled the handle again, but the door would not open.

"Stand back," Lucius said, and pushed Proudfoot out of the way. "The doors of this house open on my say-so, not yours." He flung the door wide open, to reveal a cosy sitting room, devoid of any danger. Malfoy quickly turned on his heel and opened the door to his left – another bedroom, with a huge gaudy mirror on the wall – then to his right, where he froze in the doorway, blocking the Aurors' view.

"What's in there, Sir?" Tonks had no hope of seeing over his shoulder, so she tried to peer around Malfoy's side, instead. Malfoy did not reply, though Tonks could see his knuckles turning white as he grasped the doorframe.

"Lucius! What's going on?" Narcissa's clear voice called out from the milling crowd of startled guests, and Lucius finally moved.

"Darling, would you take the guests down to the drawing room? I think everyone could use a stiff drink. I'll be down shortly."

Tonks cast a quick eye over the crowd as they descended the stairs, but couldn't see anyone bereft of a partner. The Hopkirks weren't there, nor were the Fudges or Mr Cuffe, but they were among the older guests and might not have made it up the stairs so quickly. Tonks' stomach turned. Or, of course, they could be dealing with multiple murders. With that thought in mind, she could restrain herself no longer. She pushed forward, ducking under Malfoy's arm and forcing her way into the room beyond.

There was only one body, and for a moment that was a relief. Even though he was lying face down, it was not difficult to recognise the balding head and flowing mustard-coloured robes of Gerontius Hopkirk, particularly as his signature monocle had fallen into the large pool of blood that was rapidly soaking into the pale grey carpet. He was lying on the hearthstone, his large body impaled on the thick iron spikes that lined the front of the fireplace. The spikes faced towards the fireplace: it was as if he'd stepped out of a Floo only to stumble right onto them. Tonks already had her wand out, and quickly cast _Vivovideo_, but the spell only confirmed what her immediate observation had already told her: Hopkirk was dead.

"_Maladficio_," was Proudfoot's following spell, the second of the three standard spells cast at a murder scene, just as they had been trained. Nothing happened: no spell of ill-intent had been cast on Hopkirk.

"_Causa Mortis_," Tonks finished, and, of course, the iron spikes lit up with a cold white light. Proudfoot moved closer while Tonks held the spell, but close observation provided nothing more than the obvious.

"What was he doing here? And where's his wife? They just went to bed!" Tonks was nearly shouting, until she heard a strange, strangled noise from the doorway. It was Lucius Malfoy, still clutching the doorframe.

"Mr Malfoy, are you all right?" Proudfoot asked, moving over to take the man's arm and pry him off the doorframe. Malfoy snatched his arm away.

"What – in my own house! He was a friend of my father's." Malfoy turned a suddenly steely gaze on Proudfoot. "Sort this mess out. Immediately."

"I'll need to ask you a few things," Proudfoot said, and pressed on before Malfoy had a chance to interrupt. "Firstly, are the anti-Apparition wards still in place? You apparated up the stairs, but the others ran."

"Yes. The wards are in place until dawn. They don't prevent the family Apparating, of course, but no-one else can Apparate or Disapparate within the grounds."

"And the Floos?"

"They're all interconnected in the house. They always have been. And only people with the brooches could get in and out tonight. One return trip per person." He looked Proudfoot up and down, starting to recover his habitual sneer and covering up the first genuine expression Tonks had seen him achieve. "I didn't want anyone uninvited getting in."

Proudfoot smiled. "Good to hear, Mr Malfoy. We'll be looking closely within the house, then."

"Be careful, Mr Proudfoot. I really couldn't say exactly what protections the house might exercise when prodded." Lucius swept out of the room, back towards the stairs.

"Careful," Tonks muttered, still peering at the warm body of Gerontius Hopkirk, "Don't antagonise him."

"I wasn't trying to – dammit. Look, you see if you can work anything else out from here; don't let anyone near the body. I'll Floo Scrimgeour, and get some assistance from MLE. They can come in and guard this room, at least. I'll go check on Madame Hopkirk."

"You'd think she'd notice if he went missing. Oh, and this will keep us in touch. _Nenawazo_!"

"What's that?"

"My dad calls it a Communicator spell. Whatever you say, I'll hear, and vice versa. It should work through the whole house."

"Great! Back soon."

Tonks examined Hopkirk's body more closely, keeping an ear on Proudfoot notifying the night desk at the Ministry. Hopkirk had obviously gone through the Floo network – there were tiny sparkling traces of powder on his right hand and he had to have stepped directly out of the fireplace to have fallen face down on the spikes. But no spell had caused his death, so he must have been lured here by other means. An affair? A secret business deal? Politics? Tonks looked around the room. It was a standard guest room, though somewhat smaller than those on the lower floors and thus largely taken up by the enormous bed, and was decorated with a magnificently ugly jewelled washstand in the corner. It didn't seem like a very good place for a serious discussion, though it was relatively isolated from the other guests' rooms.

"_Praesentium hora_!" Tonks tapped her wand in each corner of the room, and watched as a ghostly image of herself, greatly speeded up, raced backwards around the room, tapping her wand in reverse order, peering at the body. Proudfoot and Malfoy's shades appeared, their mouths moving comically fast, then the image of the door closed. After a few minutes, the transparent Hopkirk threshed a little, then heaved himself up off the spikes and back into the fireplace, then vanished. Tonks kept watching, but all was quiet for the rest of the hour covered by the spell.

"Proudfoot, can you hear me?"

"Yes! The Ministry's getting onto Scrimgeour. They said to keep everyone here and find out whatever we can."

"Gotcha. Listen, Hopkirk wasn't forced here, and there was no-one to meet him. I'm wondering if he was meant to be in someone else's bedroom."

"I'm in his guestroom with Madame Hopkirk now – she's fast asleep. I'd say she was drugged except for the amount of alcohol I can smell on her. I don't think she would have noticed if he'd had someone in here, to be honest."

"We can have an apothecary check that out later. Is there Floo powder on the mantlepiece?"

"Yes, and the jar is open. Hopkirk must have gone from here. I'll see if he went anywhere else on his journey." Proudfoot's voice cut off for a moment as he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. "_Persequoris _Floo!"

"Auror?" The voice at the door was Shrubb, accompanied by MacCallion, a tall, athletic Hit-Witch with whom Tonks had worked in the past.

"I don't want to cast a sealing spell on the room yet – we're looking at the Floo system. Can you two keep an eye on the body? Don't let anyone unauthorised into the room, not even the Malfoys."

They nodded seriously and took up their positions. Tonks surveyed the scene one last time and closed the door firmly behind her. Someone had sent Hopkirk to his death, whether deliberately or otherwise.

 

"Proudfoot? How did the tracking spell go?" Tonks walked up beside him and stared into the fireplace. Behind them, Madam Hopkirk snored roughly.

"Good news or bad news?"

"Um, good."

"It tracks directly from the Floo in Hopkirk's guest room to the room where we found him. No magical diversions."

"That's good?"

"Well, it would save us from crawling around in the chimneys, if it wasn't for the bad news. The beginning and end of the Floo are clear, but there's – it's weird. There's some kind of charm in the middle, and I don't know what it is."

"Maybe he thought he was going to one place but ended up somewhere else. Heard that one before."

"Yes, and he was drunk, but – well, come and see for yourself."

Proudfoot had already extinguished the flames, and ducked nimbly into the fireplace and up the broad chimney. Tonks sighed, cast the grime-repelling variant of _Impervius _on her mother's fine robes, for all the good it would do, tied her skirt into an undignified knot and followed.

The chimney was broader and straighter than those in older homes, but it was still sooty, close and rough. Proudfoot caught his hired robes on a protruding brick and cursed, and Tonks paused for a moment to pull her robes closer. In that second, there was a flash of blue light, and Proudfoot suddenly lost his grip, tipping forwards and cracking his head against the bricks. Tonks had no hope of holding his weight, but she braced herself to catch him and slow their fall. Fortunately, they had not climbed far, and merely landed back in the fireplace in a wretched heap, sooty and dishevelled.

"Proudfoot!" Tonks yelled, seeing the blood running freely from a large gash in his forehead. He groaned, but did not answer. She hauled herself out from under him, trying not to drop his head on the floor, and dragged him from the fireplace. Mrs Hopkirk was still snoring away in her drunken stupor, unaware of all the noise and fuss around her.

"_Rennervate_," Tonks said, firmly, but Proudfoot didn't wake: it had not been a Stunning spell that hit him. She thought for a moment. Really, it seemed that the spell, whatever it was, caused him to slip, and the injury came as a consequence. Perhaps the same thing had happened to Gerontius Hopkirk, though it still seemed an awful coincidence that he would happen to Floo to the room with large iron spikes topping the fireguard.

"What's going on?" Narcissa Malfoy dashed into the room, stopping in horror at the sight of the sooty, blood-spattered duo.

"Something in the chimney – he fell and hit his head," Tonks replied brusquely, crouching beside Proudfoot and pointing her wand at the injury. "_Episkey_!"

Proudfoot's wound closed itself, though he was remained unconscious, and Narcissa immediately appeared less troubled. Tonks frowned: trust Narcissa Malfoy to worry more about the carpets than an injured Auror.

"Didn't my husband tell you to be careful? The house does not take well to intrusions."

"We're carrying out an investigation. A little more co-operation might be-" Tonks broke off, staring at Narcissa's robes. Small flakes of gold leaf marred the ice blue expanse of her flowing sleeve. Narcissa followed Tonks' gaze.

"Why are you staring, Miss Tonks?" she asked, a completely unconcerned expression on her beautifully made-up face.

Tonks knew that expression. She'd seen it hundreds of times on her own mother's face, when Tonks was asking annoying questions that her mother didn't want to answer.

"Tell me about the tapestry. What did you do?" Tonks had eased her wand into her hand, suddenly thankful for her voluminous sleeves.

Narcissa remained blissfully above the question. "There's over a hundred tapestries in the house. You'll have to be a little more specific." She casually moved her hand to her belt, but Tonks wasn't fooled by such as a basic manoeuvre. Narcissa Malfoy obviously hadn't needed to fight a duel for a long time.

Tonks leapt up from her crouch and barrelled straight into Narcissa with all the strength she could muster, knocking the startled woman flat on her back, and sending Narcissa's wand flying from her hand. Tonks hardly paused as she snatched up her opponent's wand and dashed down the stairs, the soot-stained, bloody skirts of her robes flying around her.

"Half-blood freak!" Narcissa shrieked after her. "Did your mudblood father teach you to brawl?"

Tonks laughed as she raced towards the entrance hall: she had in fact learned it from Mad-Eye Moody, but there was no way she was wasting valuable time rising to her aunt's silly jibes. She caught a brief glimpse of a puzzled Draco emerging from the drawing room – probably sent to see to his mother – as she flew past the first floor landing, but she reached the entrance hall without obstacle.

The tapestry was still hanging on the wall, exactly as Tonks had last seen it, but there was a little more gold leaf missing from the ivory unicorn, where Narcissa had brushed past it. Tonks tried tapping the stitched greyhounds and their silver chalice, first with her own wand, then with Narcissa's, but the tapestry continued to sparkle serenely, unresponsive to her touch. She dropped Narcissa's wand to the floor and put a foot on it for safety, and was running a hand over the tapestry when the idea of the tapestry became obvious to her: it was Black family magic, so there was no doubt that only a Black could use it. It would need blood.

Tonks could hear a commotion beginning in the house, and Narcissa's high-pitched voice wailing, so she had to hurry. She pulled off her silver brooch and stuck her finger with it, then pressed the resulting drop of blood to the chalice that was woven into the middle of the tapestry. The gems stitched into the cloth glittered more brightly for a moment, then, in a colour of thread for which Tonks had no word, a map of Malfoy Manor appeared on the tapestry.

No Black woman would go out into the world without a level of control over her surroundings: what good mother would allow her daughters to be a prisoner of their husbands' homes? It was Narcissa who controlled the secret paths of Malfoy Manor, and Tonks doubted greatly that Lucius knew a thing about it. Though it dizzied her to look at the oddly three-dimensional creation, she could easily see the wards on the doors, the knot of protections surrounding Draco, and a neat little diversion in the Floo system. Proudfoot's inquiry spell had been quite correct: no-one had cast a spell on Gerontius Hopkirk. Instead, as he moved through the Floo system, he had passed through an area that rotated his body forty-five degrees forward, guaranteeing that he would fall from the fireplace straight onto the vicious spikes. It was an old trick, occasionally and illegally used in Quidditch, and certainly wouldn't leave a mark on the victim.

Tonks was abruptly dragged from her analysis by Lucius Malfoy's hand grabbing her shoulder and pulling her away from the tapestry. She twisted free with ease, and planted her foot firmly back on Narcissa's wand, pointing her own directly at Malfoy's chest.

"You attacked my wife!" he bellowed, his own wand drawn.

"Put your wand away, Mr Malfoy," Tonks replied, her voice level. "I don't think you want to add to tonight's trouble by attacking an Auror."

Malfoy, and Vasyl Crabbe at his side, looked very much like they wanted to attack an Auror, but the imminent scrap was averted by the appearance of the Minister for Magic, still in his bright green dressing gown.

"Lucius! What on earth is going on here?"

Malfoy tucked his wand away with irritating grace, and turned to face Fudge.

"I fear, Minister, that Auror Tonks here has become a little over-excited."

"Ah, yes, of course, family connections and all that."

A thunderous look passed over both Malfoy and Tonks' faces, but before either could reply, a serious of loud thumps from the fireplaces in the next room announced new arrivals, and a moment later Scrimgeour and half a dozen MLE hit-wizards stormed into the room, Scrimgeour's face grim.

"Good morning," Scrimgeour said, his sonorous voice easily overwhelming everyone else's. "I hope, Auror Tonks, that there is something concrete to report by now." He looked around the room. "And where is Auror Proudfoot?"

 

Later that afternoon, Tonks and a now-healed Proudfoot stood in Scrimgeour's office, protesting vociferously.

"We can't just let them smooth the whole thing over! A man is dead!" Proudfoot bellowed.

"What did the Malfoys do, buy off Madame Hopkirk?" added Tonks, to Scrimgeour's evident displeasure.

"Firstly, Proudfoot, the Hopkirk family and Malfoy family may smooth over whatever they like. Secondly, Tonks, if we had a serious case to prosecute, it wouldn't matter what hold the Malfoys had."

"How much more evidence do you need, Sir? We saw Narcissa Malfoy whispering to Hopkirk: she must have lured him to that room, and to his death."

"All your evidence, Tonks, is entirely subjective. You gathered it from some kind of blood-cursed tapestry, and there is no way to prove that what it showed you is correct. You left Narcissa Malfoy alone with an unconscious Auror, and we believe she may have had another wand about her person, or at least nearby, and removed all evidence of this alleged Misorientation spell."

"She didn't take my wand," Proudfoot muttered, "I was perfectly safe."

Scrimgeour scowled at him. "If she didn't arrange Hopkirk's death, I'm sure you were. If she did, you're lucky she didn't knock you on the head right there and then."

"But, the gold leaf! The Floo with spikes!" Tonks was outraged.

"Family heirlooms, they claim."

Tonks opened her mouth to argue further, but Scrimgeour shut her up with a stern gesture.

"I don't like this either, Aurors, but the fact remains that we do not have enough evidence, or even the backing of the late, unloved Mr Hopkirk's family."

"So they just get away with it?"

"I can't imagine that their Spring Soirees are going to be as popular from now on. And the Minister didn't seem precisely enthusiastic about Malfoy's defence."

Tonks and Proudfoot both scowled, but they recognised what Scrimgeour was telling them: it would be counter-productive to proceed.

"Besides, Aurors, I have one further lead for you. It seems that Mr Hopkirk possessed a number of documents detailing the Malfoys' financial activities. He might have been using them for blackmail, but we can use them for justice."

"Yes, sir," the two Aurors chorused, suddenly much more enthusiastic.

Scrimgeour grinned. "It's downstairs, in the Meeting Hall."

"You mean-"

"There's about three hundred boxes of papers. I expect an orderly summary by the end of the week. Dismissed." Scrimgeour waved an airy hand, and Tonks and Proudfoot slogged off downstairs to fulfil what could only be the ultimate destiny of any Auror: paperwork.


End file.
